


I didn't mean it

by Erisandmira



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Apologies, Awkwardness, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erisandmira/pseuds/Erisandmira
Summary: "The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”In which, Geralt tries to apologize.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 326
Kudos: 2973
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY, Geralt is Sorry, witcher





	1. Chapter 1

_“Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days it’s you, shoveling it?”_

_“Well, that’s not fair-“ Jaskier said quietly, a mixture of confusion and hurt radiated from his blue eyes._

_Geralt didn’t let him finish speaking – couldn’t let him finish, the anger swirling in his chest needed an outlet, a target. So, the Witcher aimed it at the only person still there, the only person that was always there, “The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take **you** off my hands.”_

_The words came out like a dreadful build up steam, burning Geralt on the way out almost as much as it burned the one on the receiving end. Abruptly, Geralt turned away from the bard, not willing to see the full effect his words had._

_For a little while, they both stood there in stunned silence. It was almost as if they thought if they remained silent and unmoving, time might reverse itself and obliterate the harsh words poisoning the air between them. Instead, it festered and tore inwardly._

_When Jaskier finally spoke, his voice was still uncharacteristically quiet, “Right. Uh…Right then. I’ll…I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.”_

_Geralt didn't dare voice his thoughts again, they were still infected with rage born of pain and sadness. He needed to calm himself, find himself, suppress himself and the discord twisting his insides._

_“See you around, Geralt,” Jaskier said, looking far too mute to be the Jaskier he knows, and then he walked away._

_A feeling, an urge to scream, a heart so broken to see him walk away. And yet, Gerlat doesn’t say anything._

* * *

It took Geralt two week to find Jaskier again, this was not because the bard was particularly hard to track, but rather because the decision to seek him out went against Geralt every instinct. Witchers don’t take breaks from monster hunting because they have hurt someone’s feelings. Geralt of Rivia doesn’t lose sleep because of concern for a bard (expect he did). After many nights of wrestling with his conscience, Geralt reluctantly took off to find Jaskier.

It came as no surprise that his search led him to an overcrowded tavern. Almost every table was filled, and much of the standing room as well. A quick survey of the room told Geralt that the clientele was of a broad cast. Sailors, knights, merchants and what seemed to be travelers from the north and outer regions. Through the low doorway, Geralt even thought he saw some dwarfs in the dooryard beyond, swilling ale beside the horse troughs and tether posts.

The Witcher stepped in, navigating between multiple drunkards until he reached his. A task made easier by Jaskier…eye-catching presence. In the privacy of his own mind, Geralt could admit to being somewhat impressed by the bard’s ability to stick put in a room full of plastered men determined to outdo each other in idiocy. 

With a lute in his arms, and feet on an unsteady chair perched atop a table, Jaskier drunkenly played a rather upbeat version of the ballad ‘Love is not’. His voice was smooth as always, rolling over the room in sorrowful waves. The dim light cast an ethereal shade over the younger man, his brown hair turned darker in the darkness and the paleness of his skin became highlighted.

Not for the first time, Geralt couldn’t help noticing how _small_ the other looked. Or perhaps lean would be a better word? There was just something almost pretty about the Jaskier, a softness outlining his every curve and a delicateness defining his features. Not to mention those flamboyant outfits, bright and colorful, clinging to his body like a second layer of skin. It was obvious that Jaskier wanted to be seen and appreciated, but Geralt vaguely remembered it being much easier to ignore than he was currently experiencing.

_“At least say something._

_Please don't leave without saying anything,_

_To make him stay she would give everything_

_it makes me wonder,_

_Did I do something wrong?_

_For we are no longer.”_

For the span of a single heartbeat, their eyes meet, and Geralt could have sworn he saw something other than surprise and anger. Then the moment passed and Jaskier looked away as if Geralt didn’t exist. In fact, because it is Jaskier after all, the bard took it even further by twisting his body to face the other direction. The abrupt movement caused him to become unsteady and Jaskier arms flailed briefly to bring himself back to the balance while loudly mumbling, “Shit,” at the same time.

Geralt grunt slightly in exasperation at the somewhat childish display. Surely, Jaskier realized how little subtle that was? When the younger man just straightened his back, and continued to play the song, Geralt’s exasperation grew into something more potent.

“Jaskier,” he said, loud enough to make the crowd around the bard eye him wary. And yet, Jaskier just played even louder.

Fine. Geralt had other ways to get his attention.

“ _Love is not, love no mor_ \- Hey! Unhand me!” Jaskier shrieked as Geralt pulled him down, the younger man tried to violently twist himself free from his grip, but Geralt held tight. Not out of malice, but because Jaskier was moving with more ferociousness than his dainty appearance would suggest him capable of.

“Relax,” Geralt growled, “I just want to talk.”

“I just want to talk,” Jaskier repeated mockingly, putting one hand on his chest, he snidely added, “Now that’s new, I thought grunting was your preferred method of communication?” 

Geralt barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. To think he came all this way to apologize. He crushed down the surge of relief to see Jaskier behaving so… _Jaskier_.

“Hey! I’m getting kidnapped here by this..this Witcher! Surely you God-fearing citizens will not let this travesty stand?” Jaskier wore the most nobly expression on as he said it, no doubt marveling at his own elegance or something. Geralt was unimpressed and glared at the crowd, daring them to interfere. Naturally, Jasiker used his moment of distraction to hit him with the lute.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! Thank you very much for all the kudos and comments. They made me ridiculously happy and I tried to write this as quickly as possible, so I hope you like it <3

“Oh, horse shi-“ Jaskier barely managed to say before throwing up _again_ , “why? God why?”

Glancing up at the dirty two-storey buildings soaring up grimly on either side of the alley where they were walking, Geralt couldn’t help wondering the same thing. They had scarcely taken three steps out of the tavern before Jaskier began to puke like a diseased cat. One bleary look had told Geralt exactly what the bard had been consuming the past day; fish and lots of ale apparently. And now, Jaskier was once again lurching forward and heaving even though there was little left to go.

The pungent stench invaded Geralt’s nostrils as he sunk to his knees besides Jaskier. Hesitantly, Geralt raised a hand – to comfort maybe, but it stopped short, hovering inches from Jaskier's shoulder. Closing that distance shouldn't have seemed like a daunting prospect, but Geralt felt paralyzed in a way others might be before a beast.

Initiating physical contact was much easier when violence and danger was involved. Or sex. Being fucked by others or life summed it up nicely, Geralt supposed. Either way, gently rubbing Jaskier back while he puked felt too…intim- _wrong_. 

Inching closer, Geralt could almost feel the heat radiating from Jaskier back. Only a little bit of distance left, Geralt just needed to move his hand a little bit further. In the end, it proved somewhat pointless, as Jaskier leaned backwards right into Geralt's hand.

The bard blinked as though surprised by the connection, bright blue eyes gleamed at him before shutting tight again and vomiting a thin wash of bile onto the Wicther. The reeking substance seeped into his pants and dripped down to his shoes.

Geralt grunted, “Really, Jaskier?”

The younger man tilted his head back, leaning even more on Geralt, and answered with a slight slur, “What? I’m not vomiting here for fun, I-I oh, my…ugh, ‘really Jaskier?’ Really, Geralt! My insides aren’t going to stop violently contracting because it offends the Great White Wolf,” he briefly paused to breath before continuing, “adding the sour scent of puke to this already disgusting piss-aroma doesn’t make me proud, yet you dare act so high and mighty, ‘ _really, Jaskier_?’, what about saying, ‘poor Jaskier’ or ‘shall I get you some water’, or anything else!”

“You smiled before puking on me,” Geralt accused.

“Slander! First you ruined my lute –“

“Ruined it? You wrecked it at my shoulder,” Geralt said and did not follow the statement up by rubbing said sore shoulder, mostly because he refused to be pulled into Jaskier theatrics, and yet Jaskier’s gaze immediately moved to it. Almost apologetic. As if a lute could possibly hurt Geralt’s right shoulder.

Geralt hoped his glare conveyed how ridiculous that notion was. Blue eyes darkened when they meet Geralt’s and Jaskier watched Geralt for a long moment, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘stupid muscles’ under his breath. It made Geralt uncomfortable in the same way he had been only a few moments earlier – like something was once again hovering in the air between them, waiting to make contact.

Jaskier looked away first, his mouth twisting into something that could barely pass as a smile, “I guess you right…I’m the one who ruined it.”

Not for the first time, Geralt cursed his limited interactions with humans. He did not know what to say and couldn’t help feeling inadequate, feeling a little less – _less_ human, less than what the man before him needed.

_This is why it's best not to get involved_ , Geralt thought, _I’m not made to be with others, not anymore._

But then again, hadn’t he come all this way because he decided he would try anyway? To offer Jaskier what he could even if it’s less than what he deserved? Before he could untangle all the thoughts and feelings swirling inside him, Jaskier stood up, the smile on his lips was slightly more convincing than the one before.

“Oh, well…Right then, “ Jaskier said, and for a horrible moment Geralt feared he would say ‘See you around, Geralt’ and walk away again.

“Wait,” the Wicther said. It was a more loaded plea than even Geralt fully comprehended. Jaskier often spoke too quickly, jumping from one topic to another, answering for Geralt if he took too long. Right now, Geralt wanted more time to form the words he wanted to say, he wanted more time to get over his hesitation, his doubts, his confusion.

Standing in a pool of his own puke, lathered in sweat and bile dripping from his chin, Jaskier looked like a mess. And yet, in that moment, he was still with Geralt. Maybe that was why Geralt couldn’t help noticing the rosiness of his cheeks and the way the moonlight poured onto his skin.

“I have,” Jaskier whispered so softly Geralt barely heard it.

Now or never, Geralt looked away, “I came here to…apologize.”

Silence met his statement and Geralt felt foolish and uncomfortable and _wrong_. This wasn’t going as he thought he would. The stench of vomit was still festering in the air, Jaskier was drunk and Geralt too tongue-tied to continue.

They stood in silence for a few more moments with Geralt’s eyes darting around while Jaskier watched him carefully.

“Are you planning on doing it now or are you just forewarning me to expect it?” Jaskier said, something genuine hinting at the corner of his mouth, and although the smile didn’t quite manifest, Geralt still felt some of his own tension easing at the sight.

A soft grunt escaped Geralt's lips and Jaskier _rolled_ his eyes at the sound. The bard tried to walk away, but staggered and would have fallen had Geralt not immediately stood up and grabbed him. Beneath Geralt’s palms, Jaskier's waist seemed impossibly slim and soft. The younger man shuddered as their breath intermingled. Geralt watched his eyes dart quickly away, and fought the urge to run his fingers through the dark locks that framed Jaskier’s face.

“What I said, I didn't mean it, “ Geralt said, “I’m sorry.”

The wind, carrying dirt and stink, billowed and eddied around them and the air echoed inebriated songs from far away. Jaskier watched him intently, expression carefully neutral and said, “You were upset.”

“It doesn’t make it right?” Geralt said, a little uncertain, confused by Jaskier blankness.

Jaskier made a frustrated sound and asked, “Why were you upset?”

He said in a way that implied that he would have accepted being yelled at (again) if he only knew why. Geralt didn’t know what to think if that was truly the case, in fact, he was certain he would get tangled up in hopelessly despair if he reflected too much on it.

“It had been a tiring day,” Geralt eventually answered.

Blue eyes bored into him, gleaming with a silent accusation, Jaskier asked, “Because of the way _she_ stormed off?”

Geralt almost flinched at the reminder and Jaskier somehow catched it. The younger man leaned closer, his nose almost brushing Geralt’s. A new edge curled into his voice, something fragile and tetchy, when he asked; “Do you love her?”

Once again, Geralt found no words to speak.

Ripples of emotions, too many for Geralt to trace, passed over Jaskier's face. Sorrow had always been a melodramatic affair when it came to Jaskier. Packed with loud bemoaning at every moment, horrible songs and theatrical statements. This was subdued in a way Geralt never thought Jaskier was capable of. With a tight smile and sad eyes, Jaskier said, “Right…heh, of course.” Jaskier swaggered away, taking the warmth with him and leaving Geralt cold, “Then go find her, my friend. I forgive you, because I’m kind and generous and all the other virtues your witch _sorely_ lacks.”

“Jaskier.”

“Don’t be offended! I’m not denying she has her good points, like…magic? Not quite as enchanting as my music, of course, but I'm positive it is impressive when not being used to trap genies in her own body. I mean that was terrifying and crazy, but, what was my point again?”

“ _Jaskier._ ”

“Anyway, love is blind and anger is deaf, because it can’t listen to reason, you see. Huh. I wonder what other emotions have disabilities? It could make a nice so- Ah!“

Jaskier tripped on the rock Geralt had been trying to warn him from. This time Gerlat didn’t reach out to save him.

* * *

_“I want nothing,” Geralt said honestly, because he had long accepted that life had nothing more to offer him, that many paths were closed off for him._

_“Well, who knows. Maybe someone out there will want you,” Jaskier said as he moved closer, resting his elbows on the bathtub and sending Geralt a meaningful look._

_“I need no one,” Geralt said, then forced himself to meet Jaskier's eyes, “And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”_

_Jaskier stared at him with a soft look on his face, “And yet…here we are.”_

* * *

Geralt had slipped a loose arm around Jaskier's waist and tugged him towards the nearest inn. By the time they reached it, Jaskier was half-asleep, mumbling nonsense against Geralt's chest. The innkeeper raised an eyebrow when Geralt asked for a single room, but accepted his coins eagerly.

Geralt practically carried Jaskier to bed, the younger man’s fingers curled around the thick fabric of Geralt’s jerkin, not letting go even as Geralt gently laid him down in the bed. Blue eyes looked up at him, pleading for understanding – for consideration. Jaskier whispered tenderly, “I-I could…I would love yo-,” he dipped his head looking self-conscious, ”if you were _kinder_ …just sometimes, a little kinder, maybe _once_ would…just once would be enough.”

Geralt sat on the floor, watching Jaskier fall asleep, his thoughts stretched and swayed as if he had been the one drinking tonight. Absently, he traced the line of Jaskier’s body as he younger man shifted around in his sleep. Before caution could make him second guess himself again, Geralt reached out to caress a stray tear from the bard's cheek.

_A little kinder_ , Geralt wondered how to archive that. He had apologized and it hadn’t felt enough, but maybe a little kindness would? Quiet determination took root inside him, Geralt could be kind for one day.

Then he could leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had originally just planned two chapter with an ambiguous ending, but all the sweet comments made me want to expand this fic a little bit, because you guys deserve more!!!! I've not played the game or read the books, but I hope this is still in character? Anyway, I hope you guys like this chapter, here is a preview for the next one:
> 
> “Here for you,” Geralt said through gritted teeth, thrusting it violently into Jaskier's hand.
> 
> The bard looked confused, “A flower…?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you very very much for all the support. Especially all the lovely comments, I really appreciate them. I figured writing the next chapter as quickly as possible would be the best way to show my gratitude :D

A pair of mighty antlers adorned the mantle of the Inn lobby and the floor carpet had an old-fashioned pattern of large flowers interrupted by worn and thread-bare patches. Like most Inns, the smell of unwashed bodies and ale lingered in the air. A familiar odor, if not the most pleasant. Some of the customers were hanging their sodden gloves in front of the roaring fire and sitting down on long wooden benches to chatter. More and more people were flowing in as the weather progressively became worse, each heralded by a blast of cold wind as the door swung open.

At the oak-fronted counter was an array of drinks and food. Geralt had spent lots of coins securing the most delicious ones. Now, with a strange beverage in hand, he sat at the corner table, tracing the steam swirling above the warm liquid. The scent of fruit spice, perhaps cypsela, tickled his nose as he sipped in solace and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Morning was long past when Jaskier finally walked down the stairs, which Geralt was perfectly positioned to observe. The bard’s eyes darted around the room, and despite dim lighting, almost immediately found Geralt. As the younger man navigated his way through the crowd between them, Geralt felt nervousness coil up inside him. Doubt practically invited itself at the sight of Jaskier wrinkled clothes and untidy hair.

The bard always used ridiculously amount of time grooming himself in the morning, whenever he could get away with it, but for him to completely forgo it this noon implied unrest of some sort. Perhaps even displeasure – Geralt was well-aware he didn’t deserve the easy forgiveness Jaskier offered him last night and sober Jaskier might agree.

Geralt bolted up out of his chair the moment Jaskier reached him. Visibly startled, the bard stepped back and eyed him with a confused expression. Once again, Geralt felt incredibly foolish and an apology sprang to the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it at the last second. Walking to the other side of the table, the Wicther pulled out a chair and said; “Sit.”

Blue eyes widened comically, Jaskier pointed to himself and asked, “Me? You want _me_ to sit down?”

Geralt glared, not wishing to repeat himself, so, he gestured at the chair again. Slowly, as if afraid, Jaskier inched his way to the chair. After sending a very baffled look at Geralt, he sat down. Geralt grunted his approval and pushed in the bard’s chair.

“Okay, okay, this is not _odd_ at all,” Jaskier said, “in fact, this is completely normal. In so much it's sort of…isn’t? Geralt?”

Geralt returned to his seat, uncertainty still raged inside him, trying its best to escape the coating of his flesh. He did not know how to respond to the bewilderment in Jaskier’s voice any more than he knew how to calm the fierce beating of his heart.

_Just stick to the plan_ , Geralt decided, _be kind._

A tad more forcefully than intended, Geralt pushed forward a plate of eggs, ham, piles of bread. Jaskier blinked and stared down at it as though he had never heard of the concept called food. Geralt shifted uneasily, feeling a strange urge to explain himself, “It was warm a few hours ago.”

“I-I, uh, I’m sorry?” – one glance at Geralt’s frown made him change his tune – “No, wait…I’m thankful? Yes, very thankful,” Jaskier said, so uncertainly that Geralt was hit with the urge to flee this uncomfortable scene.

“Just eat,“ Geralt tried to soften his words by forcing on a smile, but his face was so tense he doubted the results were flattering.

Jaskier squinted his eyes at him, “Are you…baring your teeth? Oh, yes, definitely, you’re even growling now! Really, Geralt, I’m feeling a little threatened. And by a little I mean very, extremely, tremendously, maybe even supremely.” Despite making those claims, Jaskier settled himself more comfortably on the chair. Resting his elbows on the table and leaning closer, the bard peered at Geralt with bright eyes, “also a little concern if I’m being honest, and by a little, well, you _know_.”

Some of the tension eased across Geralt's shoulders, the sound of Jaskier prattling had a strangely soothing effect, and his voice came out steady when he asked, “Since when has food threatened and concerned you?”

Jaskier straightened and gestured a little with one hand, the other coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “Well, the turkey at dinner table to Count De Stael inspired heaps of dread, though, to be fair, the knife violently stabbed into it might have been the reason…And I’ve never _really_ felt safe drinking anything handed to me by Valdo Marx, not I would ever allow him to know that. And –“

“Do you fear me hurting you?” Geralt delivered the words with a pained edge, because he had not considered that option before – not in a long while, but _of course_ Jaskier felt unsafe around him.

“No! Don’t be daft,” Jaskier protested vehemently as if insulted by the very suggestion,” I’m afraid of a great number of things, Geralt of Rivia, and I _always_ find the strength to face them anyway when I’m with you, because that’s how deeply I-I…because that’s how safe I feel with you.”

Geralt felt something painful tug in his chest, something sharp and scorching and important, but it rushed forward too furiously for him to interpret it. All he knew for certain was that he needed to move closer – to touch, to burrow himself in that warmth and softness that is Jaskier. The Wicther’s fists clenched and rushed through his body, flooding him a yearning to be somehow good enough to earn the right to – to…

“Kind enough,” Geralt unknowingly mumbled out loud, not noticing how the bard stilled at those words.

Had Geralt looked up, he would have seen how Jaskier proceeded to _crumble_. The younger man’s expression rippled – something agonizing flashed in his eyes before resignation settled in. But Geralt didn’t look up, nor did he pay much attention to when Jaskier casted his gaze onto the ground crestfallen and whispered with a broken voice, “G-Geralt, I…what I said last night – you don’t have to…ugh, please don’t think about, please I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, can we…just pretend I never said anything…”

His voice trailed off when Geralt glanced up sharply, confused by what he was hearing, but the pain in Jaskier’s face only increased.

“Please, Geralt,” Jaskier pleaded, desperation laced through his voice.

“What.” Geralt said, confused and annoyed at himself for missing the beginning of Jaskier's speech. The bard flinched, shrinking back at Geralt's hash tone, and Geralt felt guilty and useless and everything in-between.

Aggravated, because everything was going to shit, Geralt reached back into his bag he pulled out the wild flowers, almost all picked because of their edible traits – all except one.

_It was still early when the clouds gave off their rain to the grass and houses, Geralt felt each splash that touched his skin, washing away the dirt and muck. He tried to hurry, worried that Jaskier might wake up before he returned to the Inn and order something to eat before Geralt could. At least he managed to deliver the item to the expert, who promised to have it done by afternoon, which would no doubt please Jaskier._

_The dandelion caught his attention, perhaps because of the bold way it sprouted out; too tall, too bright and in a hostile place that didn’t not appreciate its loveliness. Or maybe it was how soft the petals felt, still sunshine in delicate lobes and it reminded Geralt of –_

“Here for you,” Geralt said through gritted teeth, thrusting it violently into Jaskier's hand.

The bard looked confused, “A flower…?”

The silence stretched out between them as Geralt stared at Jaskier, who’s face slackened for a second before flashing a bright smile at Geralt. The bard gazed down at the flower with a startling amount of vulnerability, as if Geralt had given him something unspeakably precious. When he giggled; light, melodious and so free, the rest of the world faded away.

“How cliché! Flowers that is, but I suppose I must give you credit for some originality, seeing as dandelions are unusual gifts –“, he giggled again, a short huff of air coming out his nose, “–it's dangerous nice of you, Geralt. I might even go as far as to call it as sweet. To call you _sweet_.”

Geralt let himself give a small smile at that, “Ridiculous notion.”

“You are ridiculous,” Jaskier shot back, the smug smirk that ticked up half of his mouth did nothing to hide the color rising in his cheeks. The younger man gently twirled the daisy in his fingers before holding it up to his nose, closing his eyes as he inhaled. Jaskier looked happy and brilliant and so very, very beaut-

Geralt cleared his throat, softly repeating, “Just eat.”

Smiling with pleasure, Jaskier tucked the dandelion behind his ears, then he spread his arms in a 'tada' motion. As Geralt paused to weigh his options (Jaskier joy versus potential mocking) the bard’s eyes dimmed.

“It suits you,” Geralt eventually managed, but only when he averted his eyes.

Like a catchy song, the sound of Jaskier laughter grew more charming every time it played. Geralt could not bring himself to be insulted, even though he was certain Jaskier was laughing at him.

Inside the busy Inn, their knees were almost touching under the narrow table, and Geralt felt strangely content. For a moment, he allowed Jaskier’s voice to sink in, his words, the way his eyes met Geralt’s and didn't turn away.

The day was far from over, but maybe Geralt could stick around Jaskier a little while longer. At least until the bard was at a safer town. After all, the whole being kinder was turning to be more rewarding than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one chapter left (hopefully - I do have a terrible habit of expanding my fics). I hope you guys liked this chapter. Geralt is an awkward mess, but Jaskier would love him to be his awkward mess.
> 
> Preview:
> 
> "May I have this dance?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not last chapter after all...but hopefully you guys don't mind? Also, thank you very much for all the kudos and comments! I've read everyone of them and they mean the world to me, making me sooooooo incredibly happy. But, these days have been very stressfull, so I haven't gotten the chance to respond, but I will soon:D happy new year!

Beneath the slumberous moonlight, just outside a hall awash in candlelight, a faint pink suffused Jaskier's face as he glanced at Geralt under his eyelashes and nervously asked; " _May I have this dance?"_

Stumbling, disappointing and rejecting – a night consisting of falling to pieces. Blood mixed with ale and regret. A pale face covered in so much pain that Geralt’s heart stopped beating for one agonizing moment.

_(Please be okay.please be okay. pleasebeokay.pleasepleasepleasepleaseIbegyou)_

Once spoken, words can never be taken back, not really. Especially the horrible ones, for they are wounds that fester and turn necrotic. And long before this night of horror, before they dressed and before a little kindness, Geralt had shouted, “ _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”_

Life had always been so eager to inflict pain on Geralt. He should have known better than to ask for more.

* * *

_Earlier that day_

“No, “ Geralt said as he patted the neck of Roach after searching afresh through the saddle-bags. Of course, Geralt found nothing of value, they have been running low on food since their detour through the villages along the forest edge. “That is a terrible idea.”

Jaskier pursed his lips in disappointment, “When is food, ale and lots of coins ever a ‘terrible idea’? Is it weakness on my part to wish for a warm bed for _one_ night?”

“Hmm,” Geralt acknowledged, kneeling down to pick a daisy and offering it to Jaskier. Perhaps it was true that everything became easier with practice, because Geralt only felt a faint hint of embarrassment this time.

Jaskier beamed him a smile that was soft in the edges, eagerly tucking the daisy behind his left ear together with the bellflower from yesterday. The bard tilted his head a bit to the side, a teasing look in his eyes as he said, “Ah, daisies. Lovely choice. They are so daring in their simplicity, carrying such a tenacious spirit, growing where they weren't supposed to… a lone speck of _white_ and _yellow_. Reminds me a little bit of someone I know.”

“I’m not…daisy-like, “ Geralt said with as much dignity he could muster. Roach nuzzled his shoulder, a polite demand for them to pick up the pace. Geralt reached back to affectionately pat her silky neck, mumbling a soft ‘sorry’.

Jaskier watched them fondly and said with a sly smile, “You are very daisy-like, Geralt. Just as I’m dandelion-like.”

_That’s what I get for admitting to him that I picked the dandelion because it reminded me of him_ , Geralt supposed, feeling a sting of embarrassment at the memory of them hurdled inside the Inn as a storm raged; Jaskier grinning happily as he sniffed the dandelion again, casually asking why Geralt picked it.

“Remind me not to,” Geralt paused, not quite willing to say, ‘share my thoughts and feelings’, so, in the end he settled with, “give you any compliments.”

Jaskier looked scandalized by the suggestion, “As if! I already receive so few from you, if you were to reduce the amount the tiniest bit, why, I might just wither and die of famine.” And because Jaskier was nothing if not theatrical, he followed up the statement by immediately putting his hand on his chest, and acted as though he were in great pain, ”Just thinking about makes me shudder.”

Geralt turned his head away to hide his smile, but he suspected his voice gave him away when he answered, “Noted.”

Jaskier moved closer, their hands occasionally bumping together as they walked just a bit closer than stickily needed. Cautiously, as if by accident, Jaskier fingers caressed Geralt’s knuckles, the touch so light it felt imaginary. Geralt hesitated a short instant before taking the invitation to hold Jaskier’s hand.

The bard had long, slender fingers and Geralt couldn’t help but to notice the light tremor as their hands entwined. During their walk, Geralt had spotted Jaskier wiping his hands against his trousers multiple times. The weather was chilly, and yet Jaskier palms were slightly sweaty.

“Geralt,” Jaskier smiled with a relieved glint in his eyes, “you’ve become surprisingly good at distracting me, but I’m afraid we’ll have to return our attention to the task at hand: the party. Now, stop frowning! I understand that attending parties is one of your least favorite activities, but we need the coins, aaaand I’ve actually been composing this frankly marvelous ballad. It would be _criminal_ not to share it with the world, so….”

His voice trailed off, and he looked at Geralt expectantly. The Witcher sighed deeply and, despite his reservations, answered; “Fine.”

After rubbing his belt buckle and the silver studs of his jacket with his sleeve once more, Geralt combed his hair and tied it back with a cord and polished his shoes. A long cloak of crimson velvet fell in graceful folds from his shoulders, which Geralt still couldn’t understand how exactly Jaskier produced, it had gold striped satin woven at the bottom.

Jaskier’s admiring gaze sent a smile to Geralt’s lips. The bard was dressed in purple and scarlet, looking as eye-catching as always. He was also still wearing the daisy. After stroking the egret plume attached to his hat, smoothing and straightening his jacket, Jaskier said, “Just go ahead of me, I need to prepare a few things.”

Geralt nodded, turned on his heel and started marching to the door. Right before he left, he called out, “Jaskier?”

“Yes?”

“Try to behave yourself so that they run us off after the party, and not before.”

“Very funny,” Jaskier said exaggeratedly indignant, he picked up the lute Geralt had gotten fixed for him, “I advise you to mind your manners from here on out. Not everyone has my saintly patience.”

A residual smile lingered on Geralt’s face as the evening went on. The party took place in a rather impressive castle. Its walls rose out of the darkness, out of the silent charcoal curtain that was the dusk. From a distance, it looked like a silver mountain, sharp and mighty. The interior was bright with candlelight. The tables and benches that flanked the walls were covered with white cloth. Although the hall was packed, there was no uproar.

Jaskier’s performance had them all captivated, each ballad executed with passion and elegance, surrounding everyone in each note he played. Never did joy peek through Jaskier’s eyes more than when music was involved, and Geralt enjoyed watching it.

“Remarkable performance,” the woman next to him whispered, golden curls spilling forward.

The Wicther grunted his approval, still not looking away from Jaskier.

The woman giggled softly, inching closer as she whispered, “He is lucky to have such a dedicated and doting partner.”

Geralt’s head snapped toward her, a denial on the tip of his tongue, but an earnest look in her eyes silenced him. After sending him one last beaming smile, she stood up and clapped enthusiastically as Jaskier’s ballad came to an end.

In a bit of stupor, Geralt returned his gaze to Jaskier, who was already watching him. The younger man’s eyebrow was raised and Geralt somehow understood it was a quiet inquiry if everything was okay. Only after receiving a nod from Geralt did the bard continue with another song. A jovial and clearly popular one, for it didn’t take long before many began to sing along.

At once, with mixed aching and anxiety, Geralt thought about Yennefer for the first time in a while and suddenly his mood soured. He…needed some time to think.

* * *

_“Is this not what you came for?” Yennefer asked, a little challenging, as if trying to prove their relationship was nothing but lust and attraction. As if Geralt couldn’t feel anything beyond that._

_He tried not taking it personally, that was just how Yennefer was. Always questioning others' affection because she didn’t know how to trust it. Something burned beneath the surface of her skin and it was eating away at her every day. Geralt was similar, which was why he said;_

_“I came for you.”_

* * *

The balcony was a concrete ledge, square rough edges and a rusty rail. It was also very quiet, thus perfect in Geralt’s eyes. The shades of the night's tranquility seethed into pessimism within his reflections. His thoughts were heavy and muddled. He wanted to be far, far away – back to a time where everything was uncomplicated.

But…

“Geralt!” A voice called.

The Withcer was not exactly surprised that Jaskier came after him, but he was startled by how fast he had come. The performance must have _just_ ended. And yet, here the bard was, slightly out of breath and beaming at him. Music was still playing inside the hall.

“Well, you did stay there longer than expected, but I’m a little cross with you for missing my best piece, it was glorious,” Jaskier said, adjusting his feather-plumed hat.

Geralt said nothing, but Jaskier didn’t let that discourage him. Beneath the slumberous moonlight, just outside a hall awash in candlelight, a faint pink suffused Jaskier's face as he glanced at Geralt under his eyelashes and nervously asked; "May I have this dance?"

At Geralt continued silence the bard shifted uneasily, trying again with a much quieter voice, “I know you’re not fond of dancing, but out here it just you and me and I thought – hoped really, I-I mean, I would enjoy if y-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, from the corner of his eye the Wicther saw three young ladies staring at them from the other side of the balcony entrance. One of them had long dark hair falling in ribbons about her bright gown, and she was gazing longingly at Jaskier. Geralt bit down his discomfort and said, “I believe that lady over there would enjoy a dance with you.”

Confused, Jaskier turned his head to see what Geralt was talking about, and Geralt felt an irrational anger surge at the bard for looking away from him. Quietly, so soft that Geralt could barely catch it, Jaskier asked, “You want _me_ to ask _someone else_ to dance with me?”

_No._

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier kept his face turned away from him, a slight tremor traveled through his body, “Oh…okay, see you around then.”

The words felt like a punch , making it too painful to even breath for a moment. Geralt couldn’t let him walk away again, “Jaskier…I’m sorry, I just need a moment alone. To think.”

_(Yennefer, destiny, child, love, fear)_

Jaskier glanced at him, wearing an unreadable expression, before saying, “Okay, but…don’t keep me waiting too long,” then with an overly cheerful smile, “Or else I’ll have to find another way to pass time.”

Geralt watched the distance swallow his form, already regretting sending him away, but grateful for the space. He just needed a little more time to sort things out. The loud music and plastered people did not exactly support quiet contemplation.

_(Yennefer, destiny, child, love, fear)_

The Wicther stayed there for a while before his peace was disturbed by the smell of blood. A piercing scream followed close behind. His body moved instinctively, making his way towards the violence with inhuman speed.

The scene that greeted him, a pool of blood, broken glasses and a crowd of people quickly fading away from his vision as soon as he laid his eyes on Jaskier - laying on the ground, face closed in a grimace, skin pale and clammy. A sword pierced his stomach, which would have been alarming even without the dark smoke arising from it.

A woman, the dark haired one from earlier, was sobbing and a noble man next to her wore an expression of dark pride mixed with nervousness.

“G-Geralt, “ Jaskier’s voice cracked.

No.

_No._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I suck at estimating story length, so one chapter more. I hope you guys like this one, and really thank you very much for all the support :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, thank you very much for all the support! I've decided to dedicate my time to finish this fic while I'm still invested, and I managed. Yay!

* * *

_Hey, do you want to know a secret?_

_I love you, Geralt of Rivia._

* * *

When facing the terrible, the _horrifying_ it is not unusual to freeze up. Fear had a powerful effect on the thought process, it paralyzed and disorientated, and more often than not you revert back to the same defense mechanism.

For Geralt that meant violence.

“P-please!” The noble rasped, his voice having difficulties coming out properly since Geralt’s elbow was applying quite the pressure on his throat.

In a low, threatening growl Geralt asked, “What did you do to him?”

“Plea-“ he gasped for breath when Geralt dug his elbow further in, a warning and a punishment, when the Witcher eased the pressure he expected an answer. The noble’s eyes shimmered with the promise of tears when he whispered, “I don’t know – the sword, I-I’ve never actually used it before. The sorceress who sold it to me only said that it would…help with the-“ his eyes darted to the dark haired woman Jaskier had danced with, “infidelity problems.”

A new growl escaped Geralt’s throat and he felt his own expression getting darker by the second. The man in his grip was trembling in fear; true terror laced that little worm’s blood and Geralt thirsted to spill it. “You don’t _know_ what it does, and yet you _dare_ test it on my friend?”

The noble squealed like a slaughtered pig.

Around them the crowd yammered loudly, growing more and more uneasy the longer Geralt’s interrogation lasted. Some even began to protest the rough behavior and while many witnessed the noble stab Jaskier, it wouldn’t take long before they all turned on Geralt. Humans always acted in the same manner. They barely tolerated those different, Geralt was used to this, but the human bleeding on the floor were one for the few exceptions and he couldn’t let him di–

“Where do I find the sorceress?” Geralt demanded.

“At the west edge of the town,” the dark-haired woman, urged on by concern for Jaskier, took a step forward, her sharp, pretty face was riven with sorrow. Her eyes darted between Jaskier and what Geralt could only guess was her husband, “her house is upon a hill, she might be able to help him, but you must hurry.”

Geralt followed her gaze to Jaskier – who laid on the floor silent and pale. The woman spoke true, he didn’t have time for this. The Wicther’s eyes strafed the gathered people wrathfully before kneeling to pick up his bard.

Jaskier felt light in his arms, too light, as if he was withering away already.

“Hold on a little longer,” Geralt whispered, his lips brushed the daisy flower tucked behind Jaskier’s ear.

* * *

_Sometimes I’m hit with the urge to write the words on my skin; I love Geralt._

_I would never actually do it though, partly because it feels too melodramatic even for my taste, but mostly because I fear that the words will seep into my bloodstream, and flow, freely, through me until they come to rest in my brain; sheltered, safe, nestled, tucked away and waiting for the day they might slip, tumbling onto my tongue – and then venture out to the world, to you._

* * *

The cottage was indeed perched on a small hill. It was a lovely building made of dark red bricks, a misshapen slate roof and a stone chimney. A picket fence enclosed a small garden with swathes of lawn, vegetables, herbs and frothy flower beds, and a petite woman was crouched down taking care of them. She cast a look at intruders to her home, favoring Roach with a soft smile of appreciation before warily eying the two men riding him.

Jaskier was nestled safely into Geralt’s arms, sporadically whimpered as the pain seemed to worsen.

Before the sorceress could talk, Geralt threw the cursed sword in front of her, glaring at her angrily.

“I’ve been told you crafted this.”

The sorceress raised an eyebrow.

* * *

_Would you look at me disgusted? Pitying? Maybe just uncomfortable and awkward, that does sound more like you, my dear friend._

* * *

“The spell was meant to prevent infidelity,” the sorceress said after Geralt finished telling her which healing potions he had tried and how Jaskier's condition deteriorated. She wore a pensive look as she examined the bard.

“Prevent infidelity…with a sword,” Geralt deadpanned.

She spared him the slightest glance, her hair bound behind her head, the memory of a sneer creased the corners of her lips, but it didn’t manifest. Offended perhaps, Geralt had not attempted to appear polite, unwise considering she held Jaskier’s life in her hands. Just like it had once been in Yennefer’s hands.

The Witcher tried to school his expression away from something quite so thunderous. Instead of looking startled or appeased, though, the woman seized up a serving spoon, dished up a hefty portion from a pot next to her, and dropped it onto Geralt’s space. She said, “The spell wasn’t linked to the sword, I gave my customer a potion meant to be smeared on an object of his wife’s. Why he poured it over a sword is a mystery I care not to solve.”

“Can you help him?” Geralt asked, because everything else came second to that.

“I can heal his wounds,” she paused, looking at him appraisingly, “but the spells effect needs to be dealt with another way.”

“How.”

“The spell causes increasing pain when the affected is being unfaithful, but it is alleviated by closeness to their true love, that is to say, the person they love and feeling like they belong to. If they do not have someone like that in their life, the spell usually doesn’t take effect.”

Geralt frowned, sudden agitation unfurled itself inside him, and did not seem willing to relinquish its newly made grip. He did not like the thought of hunting down Jaskier past partners (or perhaps he liked the idea too much) and encouraging them to touch the blacked out and defenseless bard. Something at his very core was repulsed by the suggestion. But, he couldn’t allow Jaskier to continue to suffer either.

“There is a rather long list of people that can claim…familiarity with Jaskier, how can I safely find the right one without inflicting more pain on him?”

The woman eyed him strangely, “Being close to you seemed to soothe his pain.”

Geralt blinked, genuinely confused by her words, surely, she wasn’t implying – no. While he was not so blind that he hadn’t noticed how the interactions between him and Jaskier crossed the tentative line between friendship and _something else_ more often than not lately, calling it true love seemed extreme. Whatever Jaskier felt for him couldn’t possibly surpass the affection he felt for the dozen human companions’ he has had.

The sorceress sighed, “I’ll prepare a potion for him, meanwhile at least give it a try before running off to search for ‘rather long list of people’.”

* * *

_As you know, I’m nothing if not daring and noble, so I’m sorely tempted to tell you anyway since you deserve to know that you are loved: so deeply, so entirely, that I'm afraid my love won't stop even ( ~~when)~~ if you decide you’ve had enough._

* * *

Jaskier laid as still as a rock. The only movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest. His features were distorted with pain, sweat trailed his skin, lips are blue and he looked _quiet_. Geralt’s hand found his without thinking and recoiled just as fast - so icy, so wrong.

Something in Geralt's stomach clenched at the thought of sharing a bed with Jaskier – not that he hadn’t done so before, they had often been forced to huddle together for warmth during their travels together. It was not the act itself as much as what it would mean if this actually helped Jaskier.

He didn’t know which possibility made him most uneasy: Jaskier loving him or Jaskier not loving him.

One option pained him while the other seemed wrong.

_“I-I could…I would love yo-_ ,” he dipped his head looking self-conscious, ” _if you were kinder…just sometimes, a little kinder, maybe once would…just once would be enough.”_

A few flowers and not yelling at him couldn’t be enough for the bard to fall in love with a mons– with him. He refused to believe his friends standards were that low.

The sorceress was wrong, what Jaskier needed was not him looming over him. He needed to get out and find the person truly loved by the bard. Someone good, someone normal, someone _kind_.

Just as he turned around he heard Jaskier moan; “Geralt.”

His name from Jaskier lips had never sounded so needy, so desperate. Geralt wanted to turn away almost as much as he wanted to curl up into the curve of Jaskier body. The Wicther settled with pulling the blanket up over the bard’s shoulder. The younger man’s eyes briefly opened, and immediately started searching for Geralt in a manner that was heartbreaking. The Wicther’s name was whispered again and again and again until he could no longer resist.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, running a hand through the bard’s hair.

Geralt hadn’t realized how tense Jaskier had been until he saw how the bard relaxed under his touch. Jaskier’s skin felt impossibly soft beneath his fingertips, so Geralt allowed his hands to wander a little bit. His palms cupped Jaskier’s face, and he caressed each of the bard's closed eyelids, his nose and his cheeks, before leaning his forehead on his and simply breathed.

Jaskier sighed in relief, some of the color returning to his skin and Geralt felt so happy he feared his heart might burst.

“Stay,” Jaskier whispered, blues flashing open again to plead.

So, Geralt slipped into the bed with him.

* * *

_“That’s why we can’t escape each other. Why I feel this way inside,” Yennefer said._

_“No,” Geralt said as hesitancy creeped over him, surely it was not wrong of him to hope what she felt for him was genuine. That he was if not worthy, at least blessed with it._

_Yennefer's eyes were burning with rage, yet her voice remained cold with judgment, “It’s not because of anything real...or true. You made a wish. It's magic.”_

* * *

Geralt blinked his eyes open when he woke up, struck with feeling momentarily disoriented and forgetting where he was. He relaxed slightly when he remembered that the weight over his waist was Jaskier’s arm. The bard face was nuzzling his shoulders and Geralt swore he could feel some saliva running down his back.

He should be disgusted – but all he could think about was that he had never felt so warm and comfortable. He turned his head into the pillow and was hit with Jaskier’s scent, a mix of chamomile and rainy days. It always drew him in whenever he caught a whiff of it, and sleeping in the same bed with Jaskier was like being surrounded in a cocoon of the comforting smell.

Geralt also felt something hard nudging his backside, which unfortunately only made him uncomfortably warm.

The arm around his waist tightened for a moment before going completely slack. Soon after, the warmth behind him drew away, leaving Geralt unforgivably cold. He twisted around to face Jaskier, who looked like he was a step away from a panic attack. Geralt bit his lips to hide his amusement, not missing how Jaskier’s eyes followed the movement.

“Finally awake,” Geralt said when it became obvious that Jaskier wouldn’t say anything.

The bard narrowed his eyes, but still looked like a confused puppy, “I must have drunk a _lot_ more wine than I remember…this is not the room we booked at the Inn,” his hand moved to his left ear, ”what happened to my flowers? Did I lose them? I’m so sorry Geralt.”

The Wicther shrugged, “I’ll pick you new ones.”

Despite Jaskier visible uncertainty and confusion, a small smile pluck at the corner of his mouth after Geralt words. Gods, Geralt clearly needed to pick him a bouquet this time. The younger man shifted.

“That’s good to know, though I must ask Geralt…my stomach hurt a little, well, more like a dull pain really, and I swear I sense a faint memory of an angry noble taking great offence for a simple, really innocent dance. Of all things to be attacked over. I prefer earring my suffering if I’m forced to go through it.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said as he moved closer.

“I take it you saved me?” Jaskier smiled, a little shy and embarrassed.

Geralt still didn’t know exactly how he felt, nor did he think a misused spell could be trusted to tell him what Jaskier felt. But, one thing Geralt knew was that Jaskier was both disaster and perfection. He was a disaster where the relationships were concerned, constantly getting tangled up in other aristocrats’ love affairs. But he was perfection because wherever he was, there was life, worthy, caring, overwhelming, fun-loving and strong-scented life. Geralt’s was better for having met him.

So, he leaned in and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus it ends. I hope you guys enjoyed it, I sure did. Thank you very much for all the support :D Its 5 in the morning here, so I'm...just going to sleep


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm terrible at ending stuff i enjoy writing. Work is stressful, but writing is helps calm my soul - once again, thanks for all the comments! You guys are the best <3

Dawn arrived with a musical silence – one best heard through one’s heart and soul, sending shimmering rays over the forest and bestowing a golden path from the lake to the horizon. The view was wondrous to behold, the lake teemed with life beneath the sunlit sky and gentle wind.

It truly was the finest of mirrors, Jaskier supposed, never reflecting exactly what was above, but converting it to a more beautiful image by smudging out imperfections. Then again, one touch would be enough to send ripples through the lie, so, maybe Jaskier should reevaluate that assessment.

Still, the bard was certain he could write some good lines from the thought. Something beautiful to the eyes but unattainable to the touch. The fear that the splendor before you will disappear if you reach out for it. To have all you ever wanted, just to realize that it naught but an illusion!

Jaskier certainly was in the mood to compose something tragic. A deep melancholy had taken possession of him these days, and gave a dark tinge to all his interactions and contemplations. Maybe it was the obsidian spirit within that refused to accept what seemed too good to be true.

Pressed against a tree trunk partly cushioned by a patch of moss, the bard was blessed to witness Geralt slumbering peacefully next to him. Rarely did Jaskier receive the opportunity to look at him so openly, without fear of being discovered, and it almost felt invasive to do so now.

Geralt was a sight viewed through stolen glances more often than not, because if Jaskier allowed himself to stare without stick restriction, he might never look away.

The Wicther’s features were all angles and sharp masculinity, too strong to be called pretty, though they were softened by his full lips and beautiful hair. Such a unique color, luminous white just like the edges of a cloud lit by the sun at its back.

Jaskier wanted to run his fingers through it, to accidentally brush skin and feel Geralt – the soft and the calloused and the scarred and the hidden and, well, everything.

_Will you disappear if I touch you?_

Slowly, Geralt woke up, eyelids flickering open to the sundrenched forest. Golden eyes ignited like dormant coals breathed upon, slowly, then all at once. Something dark and heated lingered inside them and Jaskier felt naked beneath them. He _wished_ he was naked beneath them.

Biting his lower lip nervously, Jaskier banished that thought by chirpily greeting the older man, “Good morning! I see sleep finally decided to release you from her vicious claws, I confess I began fearing the worst – having to actually _attempt_ waking you up. And that frankly sounds like it might earn me another punch in the stomach.”

A long sigh left Geralt’s lips as he rolled back on his back and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like;” Too early.”

Even in the midst of his melancholy, Jaskier felt a genuine smile tugging his lips. Despite his intimidating appearance, Gerald could be strangely adorable. Jaskier wished he didn’t find the disparity so charming.

* * *

The path before them was overgrown with thick tree roots, which zig-zagged and intertwined, until they formed complicated webs that were difficult to navigate through, especially for Roach. The noble mare was clearly not impressed by their choice of route, but she followed Geralt faithfully with little protest anyway.

Jaskier promised her lots of carrots and all the hay she could wish for while Geralt dotingly scratched her chest. There were little flakes of dirt tangled in her mane and tail, which Jaskier was quick to point out for Geralt – partly because Roach was a lovely creature and deserved to look her best, but mostly because Jaskier enjoyed the way Geralt’s eyes light up at Jaskier thoughtfulness.

When those golden hues quivered into that soft shade, so tender and fierce, Jaskier could fool himself into feeling _loved_. He needed that illusion a little while longer as he prepared himself to seek answers he might not be able to endure.

“Geralt?” Jaskier ventured bravely, “I need to ask you something.”

Geralt eyed him warily, but said nothing as he often did.

Jaskier tried not let that discourage him, gulping timidly before continuing, “I-I want to ask, that is, I feel like it imperative that we discuss the finer details…I mean, okay, what I mean is that I feel like we are traveling on murky water and can benefit from more solid…eh…ground? Soil? Not important, my point is, I’m sort of _confused_.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt part expectantly, part pleadingly. The Wicther’s expression was difficult to read, not unusual exactly, but at that moment it seemed like Geralt was doing his best not to volunteer any hints of his thoughts.

A little unfair considering Jaskier was pouring his heart out, admittedly in a very messy and awkward manner, but at least he was trying. Annoyed, he pressed the Wicther a little more, “Do understand, Geralt?”

“No…not all,” Geralt answered, “except the being confused part.”

Mighty trees towered above them and obstructed the sunlight, thus darkness fell upon them. Ironically, this made it easier for Jaskier to shed some light on the issues that had been plaguing him since Geralt handed him that dandelion (which was tucked inside the pocket above his heart) and intensified by the visit to that witch’s cottage.

_Lips pressed against a warm, wet area Jaskier ached to always stay. Large hands tangled in his hair, grasping and tugging him closer, and Jaskier felt his skin flushes red as the touch of Geralt burned him from the inside out._

_It was – everything_.

Jaskier managed a pained smile, his voice caught on the sharp edges of emotion when he asked, “Geralt, what am I to you?”

Flowers, then rejection. A kiss, then indifference. Jaskier was not sure how much more he could take.

Golden eyes bore into Jaskier’s, watching every nuance, every detail of every expression that shifted through Jaskier's face as he spoke. Geralt looked like he was trying his best to figure out Jaskier, as if the bard had asked a puzzling question.

The stoic man eventually said, “It is not obvious?”

Jaskier snorted in disbelief, “Surely you are jesting? Obvious is the last word I would use to describe your intentions. Every action you take is ambiguous at best and downright contradicting at worst.”

Glaring rather fiercely, Geralt crossed his arms and shot back, “I shoved my tongue down your throat. Repeatedly. Hardly ambiguous.”

“And then you proceed to act like nothing afterwards,” Jaskier practically exploded with his frustration,” You selfish, ridicules prat, just doing whatever you want without sparing a thought to my feelings, like it’s okay that you treat me the way—”

“Enough,” Geralt interrupted curtly. Jaskier flinched. The sheer rage in Geralt’s voice made the bard shrink away. There was something utterly painful about having the Wicther’s anger directed on him, no matter how often it happened, it never failed to make Jaskier feel small and empty.

_He hates me, he hates me, he hates me_ , oh, how agonizing the mere thought of that possibility felt.

“I’m s-“ Jaskier stopped himself. He hadn’t done anything wrong, so he shouldn’t apologize, right?

Geralt moved as though planning to step closer, but halted it so quickly Jaskier might have imagined it. The Wicther looked uncertain, pained and aching – an echo of what Jaskier was feeling.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered softly, a scornful laugh busted from his mouth, startling Jaskier. The older man pinched the bridge of his nose, saying, “Fuck…I’m truly atrocious at this…forgive me for yelling at you, again.”

Jaskier said nothing, because he knew he would only answer; _of course, always._

“I feared I overstepped,” Geralt said, “after I kissed you, I couldn’t help noticing how skittish you became…I thought it would be better to give you some time, to not hover and press you to anything. I did not mean to cause confusion.”

Skittish? Jaskier supposes he might have come off as a bit edgy in his attempts to not mess this up. Geralt kissing him had felt so unreal that Jaskier had half doubted it had really happened before confronting Geralt with it now.

Silence stretched as Jaskier tried to gather his thoughts, but this time Geralt clearly decided that inaction was unwise. The older man dipped into his space, hesitantly, and so very, very gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.

With a barely audible tremble in his voice, Geralt said, “I’ll pick you as many flowers as you could ever wish, I’ll even dance with you, stay with you…If you’ll have me.”

Jaskier felt his eyes tear up at that declaration, sharp tenderness stitched itself on his heart, and Jaskier knew he would always want – always _need_ Geralt. Love was awful, the absolute worst. How many times hadn’t Jaskier imagined himself with Geralt? Being happy unreservedly together? 

Half-sobbing, half-laughing, Jaskier asked, “What about shoving your tongue down my throat? _Repeatedly_. I think I would like that.”

Geralt leaned forward to touch Jaskier’s forehead with his forehead, while having a gentle smile on his face, “I thought such displays of affections were too subtle for your taste.”

Jaskier gasped in indignation, the dramatic effect somewhat ruined by the fact that he had to sniff a few times, “Perhaps that is saying something about your sloppy performance, since it clearly left me doubting your investment?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, _hard_.

“What, you don’t take constructive criticism?”

“Not without crying, “ Geralt deadpanned. Jaskier rose to his tiptoes and laughed into Geralt’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bows* Thank you very much all the support and love, your kind comments spurred me on to write more! I was actually going to create a separate part two to this story, but, eh, I figured it might as well be together since this chapter takes place a few days after last chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven is the number of completeness and perfection, a wonderful number :D
> 
> * many thanks to Lets_Pretend_Im_Not_Larry for betaing this <3<3<3 *

The day, long and adventures as customary, bled into nightfall as Geralt collected his due for slaughtering yet another monster. It had been a pretty straightforward mission, for once, where he could focus on killing and collecting the reward without needing to uncover hidden motivations and mucky ethical situations. The mayor of the town even paid up without complaining or making up excuses, probably because his own nephew had been a victim to the monster.

Jaskier insisted the mayor’s agreeability was due to the wide-spread popularity of ‘Toss A Coin To Your Witcher’ and the supposed shame that would follow if the mayor failed to comply. The bard held on to this conviction with so much pride and delight that Geralt couldn’t muster up the irritation to argue. Neither did Geralt completely succeed in refusing Jaskier inquires for more details.

“It’s hardly an exciting tale,” Geralt repeated for what had to be the tenth time.

Jaskier walked beside him, not quite leisurely – for the large bag on his back was obviously too heavy despite his protests of denial, but certainly happily. Adjusting his feather-plumed hat, Jaskier flashed him a bright smile, “I disagree, it has the markings of a most chilling epic; Out of the darkness a skeletal stag walks up to the fire and sits amongst a group of men. Decaying greenery adorns its wide antlers, patches of rocky lichen covers its driftwood bones and dried blood paints its face. The group of humans carry on like it's not there, but something at the corner of their minds shrieks in horror and terror…and yet…an unnatural calm comes over them and keeps them amenable.”

Jaskier glanced at him, his brilliant blue eyes wide and gleaming with so much excitement. An eager request for attention, for a captivated audience, burned in his eyes. Involuntarily, a fond smile tugged at the corner of Geralt’s mouth as he indulgently asked, “And then?”

Jaskier beamed at him, “After a while, the skeletal stag stands up and puts his hoof on the shoulder of the man next to him, ‘come with me’, it says with an oddly quiet voice, ‘come with me’,” the bard paused again for dramatic effect, “They walk away together into the darkness and no one says anything, they simply remain calm as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Gradually, the sound of cloven hooves steps becomes fainter and fainter, as the creature disappears with their friend in a corpse littered field. Over the next hour, the group of men slowly come to their senses, but it’s too late to do anything except cry in fear.”

Geralt raised his eyebrow, “Sounds like you have this story more or less completed even without any input from me.”

Jaskier drew himself up peacock-proud, “Well, I managed to gather quite a lot of intel in the tavern while you were hunting, but it would a rather sinister, not to mention narratively _unsatisfying_ song without a dashing hero slaying the beast, “ the bard held up his hands and marked the words out into the air as if he was posting them on a sign. “The White Wolf and the Skeletal Stag of Suvalkia.”

“Long name,” Geralt smirked, a hint of teeth flashing as Jaskier gaped at him in the most comic, kissable indignation he'd ever seen. The bard bemoaned Geralt’s ‘lack of tact’, vehemently insisted that the title was a work in progress and fine example of alliteration, and if _that_ truly was all the feedback the witcher had to offer.

Amused, Geralt pulled Jaskier in for a slow, gentle kiss, and he could feel Jaskier's frustration melt away, could taste the smile against his lips. The witcher's hands snaked up Jaskier’s neck, fingers tugging on the heavy bag filled with various notebooks and poems. Ignoring the bard’s protest, Geralt flung the bag over his shoulder and continued forward.

The younger man was still pouting (and blushing) when they reached the Inn they were staying at, a two-story house with a creaking wooden sign that said; ‘Welcome to Suvalkia’. The smell of fresh bread wafted through the air as they entered the cozy building. The elderly woman who ran it beamed a motherly smile at Jaskier as soon as she spotted him. Similarly, Jaskier instinctively grinned and waved.

The first night they had spent here, Geralt had derisive asked if Jaskier had left out grandmothers in his list of ‘Wives, concubines and mothers sometimes’, to which the bard had cheekily replied that there was no need for Geralt to be jealous.

Shameless man, really.

“Master Jaskier, I was just telling one of our new customers of lovely songs,” the woman said, tipping her head in acknowledgement when she noticed Geralt, “Master Witcher, I’m glad to see you’ve returned in good health.”

The courtesy was more for Jaskier’s sake than his, nonetheless Geralt appreciated it, especially considering how the ‘new customers’ stiffened with disgust at her words. Wishing to avoid unnecessary conflict, Geralt simply nodded and told Jaskier that he had to check on Roach.

“Of course, “ Jaskier smiled softly and placed a hand at his shoulders, ”noble and considerate as always, dear friend.”

There was no mistaking the pointed look he sent the fuming travelers. Nor could Geralt pretend that a fight wouldn’t break out if he left Jaskier with them, a fight instigated to defend _his_ honor.

For a moment, Geralt couldn't feel anything else besides an extreme, almost painful wave of gratitude towards Jaskier. Such loyalty and devotion was beyond precious, though unnecessary. There was really no need for Jaskier to get hurt for his sake. So, with a mixture of affection and exasperation, Geralt pulled the bard along to the stall.

* * *

An hour later, they somehow failed to leave the stall and mouth-shaped bruises covered Geralt’s collarbone. It was only Roach's judging looks and the desire not to get covered in hay (again) that stopped Jaskier and Geralt from moving further than they had.

Neither of them were particularly prudish and yet…and yet there was no denying that their relationship evolved with uncharacteristic chastity. An odd hesitance lingered whenever the mood became too heated. Both of them behaved carefully, as if worried about crossing a line. It all seemed foolish now, with Jaskier smiling beneath him. Shyly, but oh so sweetly that Geralt's teeth hurt as he gritted them.

Jaskier was the sweetest thing Geralt ever had the pleasure of witnessing. He wished he could wrap himself up in the younger man’s kindness, beauty and passion. Surely, he would rest peacefully in such warmth. The urge to _ruin/cherish/worship_ the man before him, to watch him fall apart filled Geralt with vivid, rapacious want.

“Jaskier. Bed. Now.” Each word followed with a kiss upon the bard’s neck.

Had Jaskier possessed even a tiniest bit of lucidity, he would no doubt have teased Geralt endlessly for his _eloquence_ , but fortunately lust had also robbed the bard of wit. An eager, needful sound was all Jaskier managed.

They walked briskly to their room, so close to running that Jaskier was slightly out of breath when they arrived.

They stumble into bed together – fanatic and desperate, Jaskier's hips circling and grinding against his, soft lips a furious red as they clash with his own. His own hands dip to the curve of Jaskier’s waist, threading into the fabric of his trousers and pulling him closer, closer and closer yet. Jaskier fingers slide into the locks of his hair, pulling his head to a side so that he can better access his neck, teeth grazing ever so lightly against his skin.

Geralt wanted him to bite, hard and roughly, but instead Jaskier kissed the spot so gently Geralt trembled. The younger man raised his head, eyes scanning over Geralt deliberately, shimmering like storm clouds right before lightning hit. And there was something painfully familiar with the way Jaskier was gazing at him.

Hints of it could be spotted every time Geralt saved his life or defended the helpless or picked him flowers. A look that said he couldn’t believe Geralt was real; adoration and wonder mixed together with disbelief and joy. That was how Jaskier looked at him now.

Jaskier smiled tenderly, “I know not the love of your life, but I think I'd like to try to be everything and anything in-between.”

Geralt felt a flare of exasperation, dull and muted by the sensation that polled in his belly when he looked at Jaskier. Honesty compelled him to answer, ”Jaskier, you’re already something more.”

Blue irises become near invisible, pupils blown, pupils impossibly dilated, focusing almost unnervingly on Geralt. The witcher could only gasp as a dainty hand wrap around his erection and squeezed. Geralt arched, his hips bucked into Jaskier’s teasing hand. He could come undone with just this – Jaskier’s steady, warm hand wrapped around him.

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt begged.

Tricky fingers began pulling Geralt’s shirt from his head and threw it on the ground. Less clothes seemed like a brilliant plan, so Geralt’s hands quickly followed the bard’s example until it was just the two of them; bare of all clothes and molded against each other with equal parts desperation and adoration.

Tomorrow, they would continue to make their way from place to place in the never-ending haze of adventure. Filled with drama, pain and occasional glimpse of goodness. They would continue with no destination in mind, drifting in a world that was as cruel as it was beautiful.

But that night, Geralt was keen on exploring Jaskier, to map out the freckles covering the pale skin like constellations in the night sky. That's all he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was very hard to write, both because I've been so busy, but also because this is my first attempt at smut...I mean it was pretty tame, but only because I was too embarrassed to write something more explicit! 
> 
> Thank you very, very much for all the support in this fic! I've been terrible at replying, mostly because things has been very hectic, 2020 has been very hectic, but I really appreciate all of you who have taken the time to write down your thoughts. Words can't describe how grateful I am T-T

**Author's Note:**

> So, the Witcher: I came, I saw, I fell in love with Jaskier. 'Valley of Plenty' will probably stick around in my head for a while and I had to write a little fic about him. 
> 
> Next chapter will be more angsty on Jaskier part, because Geralt really hurt him, and Jaskier deserve better. Reviews fuel me and pushes me to write, so please let me know your thoughts! I'm very curious if anyone else find this idea interesting too :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Я не это имел в виду](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253713) by [kiwilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwilly/pseuds/kiwilly)




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